In his excellent book on the rise of HBO drama, Difficult
Men, Brett Martin suggests that Davd Chase was never entirely satisfied
with The Sopranos. Despite having created a television classic that
redefined the form, Chase apparently was a frustrated filmmaker who, in my reading,
felt he never fulfilled his potential. He longed to be up there with Scorsese
and the leading lights of American urban cinema. Television didn’t quite cut
it.
No surprise that this long-cherished project The Many Saints of Newark arrives with a fanfare suggesting that this is the making of Tony Soprano. No surprise also that it is, by some distance, nowhere near as good as the TV show – and I speak as one who would not count himself a Sopranos fan. The only real surprise is that it is not on TV, of which more later.
One more surprise. This is not the origin story of Tony Soprano – he’s barely in it, a guest star in his own movie. Instead, this is the story of Dickie Moltosanti – the awkward title of the film is a ham-fisted pun on an English translation of the family surname.
Dickie’s story is thin gruel. This is generic mob drama as he rises, covets his father’s wife, starts a gang war with his former friend, and ultimately falls. The denouement of Dickie’s tale is the only genuine dramatic moment in the film. Otherwise, this is like an am-dram version of Goodfellas.
To be sure, the film has more Easter eggs than there are in Bourneville, but the scavenger hunt is a limited pleasure. Once you realise that this character is the younger version of that guy you liked, you are forced to remind yourself that the guy you liked was better. The film is a constant reminder of the excellence of the series.
The TV show has its famously novelistic structure, it has dark and barbed humour, and it is rich in layers and subtext. The Many Saints of Newark is superficially glossy, but it lacks any depth. What richness there is in the familiar characters comes from the memory of the show, and the new characters struggle to be more than one-dimensional.
Fundamentally, none of the reasons for watching and enjoying the show – other than playing Sopranos bingo – is in the film. Specifically, there is a big Tony Soprano/James Gandolfini-shaped hole in the middle which means the film lacks any compelling reason for demanding your attention.
As Dickie, Alessandro Nivola is good but he’s a very watchable actor even without decent material. Ray Liotta plays two roles; as Dickie’s father he’s a generic goombah pastiche, as his uncle however he might be the best thing in the film as its moral centre.
Much has been made of the casting of Michael Gandolfini, son of James, as young Tony but he brings very little to the part. Vera Farmiga is similarly wasted as Tony’s poisonous mother, Livia. Now there’s a relationship worth exploring in a movie.
In the end though I have to question this movie taking up screen space. One of the reasons for the demise of US cinema was that the rise of television meant you could consume similar fare free, without leaving your own armchair. On that basis, why would you lash out a tenner to see this pale imitation in the cinema when the original is available at home?
